The Truth

That's the thing about the truth
It's so delicate and helpless,
So fragile and evanescent
That you have to protect it -
You have to cup it in your hand
Or it'll go out like a tiny flame
Dying in the smoke that surrounds it.
That's what we're here for -
To see the truth,
Whatever little of it we understand
And bear witness
For fear that it would die
Under the onslaught of the world
And all the lies within it.
That's what gets me -
The truth is so weak,
All on its own,
And you just don't get it
Or you wouldn't try to bury it
And destroy it;
You wouldn't try to paint it
Into black and white -
The truth is too beautiful
To be restricted to the monochrome
But you don't get it
Or you wouldn't lie to me.